


Odi et Amo

by lavenderthoughts



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: (This is a reupload uh... whoops...), Also Felix and Dimitri are on different routes, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Attempted Gothic Horror, Barely noticeable however important for Felix' and Dimitri's dynamic, Drama, Gothic, Gothic Horrors, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Pining, Post-Timeskip, Shortly before Byleth makes their return, The Dimitri of Azure Moon but otherwise the setting of Crimson Flower, at least, no beta we die like Glenn, or rather about 4.5 years following edelgard's reveal i guess, uh
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-01
Updated: 2019-12-01
Packaged: 2021-02-27 00:33:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,977
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21638230
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lavenderthoughts/pseuds/lavenderthoughts
Summary: I hate and I love. Why I do that, perhaps you ask.I know not, I only feel and it is excruciating.----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------Felix looked up at the blonde in front of him.It looked like Dimitri. Not the boar, but Dimitri. His Dimitri.That was when he should have known that everything was wrong.
Relationships: Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd/Felix Hugo Fraldarius
Comments: 4
Kudos: 15





	Odi et Amo

**Author's Note:**

> I won't lie, this is an opening chapter originally meant to be little more than the opening act meant to set tone and introduce theme. Thus, if you are the kind of fanfiction reader to seek fanfiction in pursuit of further interaction between the ship of your favour (like myself, truth be told) I would recommend returning once chapter two is out, and perhaps speedread this opening.  
> Of course, I would love it if you read this, however, I won't pretend to offer something which is yet to be introduced.
> 
> (The poem is originally by Gaius Valerius Catullus, commonly referred to as Catullus 85, and reads thusly,  
> Odi et amo. Quare id faciam fortasse requiris.  
> Nescio, sed fieri sentio et excrucior.)
> 
> EDIT: When reading through for continuation on the next chapter, I discovered the unfinished state of the final section. This has now been cleared, and I must give my apologies. (tfw no beta-reading)

The reign of the night was nigh, and Felix remained far from any sign of civilisation, stuck among the endless trees of the thick forest. Rain had followed his path since his departure from the village he's resided this morning, although it was only once the sun commenced its journey to dusk the drizzle turned to thunder and lightning; to howling wind and tenacious torrent. His recently purchased stallion, Streiff, whose impressive size and posture had initially presented with the kind of dignity about which Felix had once frequently overheard his father boast, had seen any such honour vanish alongside the first roar of thunder. Leaving Felix with a skittish giant of a horse, who would most definitely overpower him were he to disagree with Felix’ choice of direction. Though the transformation of proud strides into meek meandering and hesitant trudging did prove to be partially beneficial, as the slower pace at least allowed Felix not to lose his head along the increasingly narrowing path, whose twists and turns only grew in their severity. A shrinkage to which he and the storm must only contribute, as the soil continued to be torn apart by the rain with enough force for the mud to taint Felix's boots, and were he not preoccupied with calming his skittish horse, he would probably have noticed the stain befouling his cheek as well.  
Streiff flinched once more as the wailing wind unleashed another screech, blowing with ample force as to threaten the stature of the towering trees surrounding them within the confines of the impenetrable forest - struggling until they would finally crumble beneath the unstoppable force, forsaking their aspirations of transcending the furious clouds themselves - although some already appeared sufficiently tall. Felix shivered as his hood was ruthlessly pulled off his head once more, and hastily returned it to its rightful place - ensuring his handkerchief covering his remaining face, leaving only his eyes to be exposed to the unforgiving storm, was properly secured before returning his grip of the reins. The rain continued to cut into his exposed skin with the ferocity of shards of glass, fuelled by the force of the raging wind.  
The sun which had until recently urged its light through the heavy clouds begun to waver a couple of hours ago, and Felix knew it was only a matter of moments before he’d be robbed of sight as well. Despite departing from the previous village at the break of dawn, he remained a far cry from any sign of civilisation.  
His mouth opened in an aching yawn, his sore throat protesting the motion. He was exhausted; only a fool would attempt denying this fact. He could feel his eyelids growing heavier by the second, alongside his crumbling posture and the ever-weakening grip around the reins supposedly guiding his disquieted mount. 

Suddenly, harsh light blinded him, and as yet another booming thunder bellowed immediately thereafter, he could feel their speed pick up exponentially as he found his exposed skin implacably cut open by the treacherous rain to an even harsher degree. In complete disregard of Felix’ desperate attempts of regaining control as he pulled the reins, Streiff continued to gallop forward in such speed Felix soon gave up his efforts in order to instead grasp the horse’s mane tightly in his hands, holding onto dear life as he was carried further and further off the known path into untrodden woods, plagued by hidden depths of darkness, the wet and harsh strands of hair constantly threatening to escape between his fingers, as the leather of his gloves proved here not to serve his grip. Any sound of the crying wind had now ceased, replaced by his distraught heartbeat, pounding at a speed outpacing that of Streiff's hooves, each thump sporting enough vigour to shake his entire body, each vibrations crawling out of every limb, leaving an echoing pulsation of emptiness behind. As though each and every piece of him folded itself in five before exploding all at once. The quaver extended to his vision, and the world in front of him seemed to quiver eerily along with his heartbeat. In desperate attempt to escape the sensation of a tremble existing inwardly and outwardly simultaneously, Felix closed his eyes and leaned his forehead against numbing hands, telling himself this escape was truly to avoid nausea, and not due to some nameless fear.  
That was until a dreadful creak could be heard before him. And Felix' head shot up immediately to witness the source of such a horrifying noise. Only to find that one of the trees had finally submitted to the demands of the wind, as its upper half reluctantly separated from its lower, falling towards the ground in a frighteningly slow motion, before finally landing with a heavy groan. Causing an uncanny tremble to spread around it, the leaves and developing mist fluttering perilously.  
The booming thud was immediately accompanied by Streiff's distressed neigh, and before Felix had properly registered the implications of the storm's strength, Streiff's frontal hooves left the ground; leaving Felix to share the late oak's fate.  
He heard the faint thud of his fall before he felt the squalling pain in his arm, and through eyelashes wet from tears or rain, he watched as Streiff galloped out of his sight. Abandoning him to navigate the wrath of the storm in the heart of an unknown forest by his lonesome, with nothing but the clothes on his body, the bag on his back, and his loyal sword, to guide him.  
Felix would lie if he claimed to know for how long he lay there, exposed and vulnerable to any attack nature may deem a suitable punishment for whatever sin he’d been found guilty of; perhaps declaring war against the church did result in divine dissatisfaction after all.  
Once he finally found the strength to rise and move forward yet again, the rain had finally threaded through the careful weaving of his clothing, ambushing his naked skin and ensuring every piece of him to shiver in a wet cold, accompanied by a tormenting chill piercing through his skin down to his very bones, and the sun had set and gone since long, leaving him only an unending darkness shielding any path forward. Once his eyes to finally grew accustomed to the absence of light, his vision still only allowed sight stretching a few meters ahead. The heavy downpour dimmed his view further, and the stout droplets kept clinging to his lashes to withal deter his efforts to get a proper view of his surroundings. Bequesting him to tread hopelessly forward, doing his best to ignore violent shivers and aching feet.  
He knew he was going to die. The possibilities of surviving here alone, amid a largely undiscovered woods during a lightless night, whose skies had decided to open and unleash its wrath upon its mortal subjects, were next to none. Perhaps this truly was of divine intent - perhaps the Goddess finally decided to grace his blatant disregard of any notions of a noble death an answer. To set an end to his fierce belief that the deceased were best left as such within the confines of their graves, rather than force their memory upon a wretched venture to purportedly bring their unfeeling corpses some mockery of pride. It would fit, he'd admit, to leave him a futile end whose lack of discovery would, in fact, only do a disservice to his fellow comrades, as they would learn of his failure to accomplish his task only weeks from now - or longer, depending on the weight of his absence. Even now, as he faced death and looked her in the eye, he would spit towards the idea of there being any such thing as a dignified death. In the end, they were all corpses left to rot - no matter the reverence of one's final moments before finally abandoning the light of day for the eternal disquiet of what lies beyond.  
He only wished there would be a chance for Ingrid and Sylvain to find his corpse in order to confirm his passing. He didn’t want to leave them with nothing but his absence and a mystery of whether he might still be alive. That devastating hope which only served to cause more sorrow, rather than allowing them to mourn and move on. He doubted anyone else would care too deeply; to his former comrades he was a traitor, and whilst he’d grown… close to Bernadetta, Leonie, and even Edelgard herself, he doubted his passing would cause them too much distress, as it would still be preferable to the death of another.  
He kept walking. Even if he would die, he refused to accept it. He would march until his legs could no longer carry him - until he would finally collapse, and lack the strength to once more stand up. Despite the lack of purpose behind any of his future actions, Felix refused to welcome his demise with an open door, settling for nothing less than death being forced to wield her scythe to get him close.  
He continued forward. Ensuring to consciously walk slightly to the right, wishing to circumvent the inevitable circle he knew he would stumble into sooner or later. His body was heavy of exhaustion, and he couldn’t help the shivers following the far too human cries of the storm around him. Not could he ignore the distinct lack of any sound but those of the storm. Although any sensible animal would surely seek shelter from weather such as this, he found the complete and utter lack of life disconcerting, and he couldn’t help but wonder if he and Streiff had been the only living creatures to wander these lands in years.  
He marched onwards.

Until his knees hit the surface of smooth stone, whose edges were too sharp and whose surface was too plane to be of natural occurrence. Felix had expected his collapse to leave him with his face in the muddied soil, his arms too heavy for his exhausted body to catch him. Instead, he landed upon the same block of stone which had interrupted his path and found its cold, wet surface to bring him an unsettling sense of comfort all too tempting to lull him into an unconscious state of rest. With his sanity still intact, Felix forced himself to wield what little energy he could muster to separate his cheek from the false promise of comfort. A motion which revealed to him the continuing block of stone. It was a wall - a human construction. As though he’d been reinstated with newfound rigour, he immediately shut himself up to take a proper look of his surroundings. Stubbornly ignoring the pestering voice in his mind daring to question the presence of human structures in such depths of the forest, lacking any guiding path to suggest its existence. In front of him stood indeed the ruins of an old wall treading beyond the farthest reaches of his sight, and within its presumed sphere of protection lay the remains of what Felix presumed to be long-forsaken cottages of old.  
Everything looked as though it had crumbled beneath the weight of time, and despite the oppressing sense of loneliness which they radiated, they did not... feel abandoned. Felix shook his head and cursed the storm for disrupting his mind - of course, these ruins had been left forgotten, it was revealed by the very name.  
When crossing the threshold of old, an instantaneous wave of nausea hit him relentlessly, leaving him staggering, only barely maintaining adequate balance not to topple over.  
'It's merely the rational conclusion of long hours without any nutrition' he tried to tell himself despite his conviction of its falsehood. He was no stranger to the sensation of hunger-induced nausea, and the gaping hole of anguish which now permeated within him was certainly not it, but he was left without any identification.  
Notwithstanding every intuitive bone within him begging him to reconsider, Felix strode stubbornly onwards, each step only fuelling his irrational ill-ease. These remains of a village was probably his only chance to find any kind of shelter to guard him against the storm, keeping him safe if only until hunger would eventually end him. Felix would soon find to his thorough dismay only one of the remaining cottages maintained anything resembling a roof left intact, leaving the rest helplessly exposed to the rain.  
It was the house farthest from the wall, and Felix found himself plead to the Goddess, whose existence he couldn’t truthfully claim to honestly believe if only to distract his inner turmoil long enough for the growing obstacle in his throat to return his breathing. Though the weight of wariness only increased as he slowly approached the narrow frame which must once have embraced a door, and by the time he reached the passing he felt as though the coarse edges of the obstacle were gently mincing his throat from the inside.

Another shrill could be heard in the distance as he traversed the entrance, and had there been a door he was certain it would have slammed shut behind him.  
The inside of the cottage looked as though it was stuck in time - its insides consisted of only one room, all of which bared itself to his eyes. Felix believed himself able to discern the corner which must once have been occupied by a bed, of which only fragments now remained. Opposite of which remained the ghost of a surface area, yet Felix distinguished this as the place of food preparation.  
These, however, were mere distractions to the main centrepiece of the house: for on the wall stretching between them stood a pristine painting, framed by glistering gold, looking as though it’d never known the presence of dust. Yet, none of this barely registered, as any such contemplation was overwhelmingly succumbed by Felix' scream once his initial shock and trepidation settled, allowing the motif to properly register;  
It was a painting of him and Dimitri.  
Despite his inability to identify their age, the location, or what characteristic specifically lead him to such a conclusion, he'd never been as certain of anything ever before. He wanted desperately to run away, yet he was frozen in place, held sternly by crawling vines of heaving dread, slithering assuredly down his every limb. When making eye contact with the figure he swore be depicting the boar, the sensation of being watched suddenly his him without precaution. A prickling sensation followed the vines, and Felix found himself utterly convinced he was being watched by an unknown entity. An entity wholly apathetic to his fate, or gruesomely fascinated to witness him play; if only for its morbid amusement.  
He would be restrained for another eternity, until he found his invisible bindings let loose, allowing his escape. Which he initially accepted without hesitation, however instead of running away, he found an intense desire to stride forwards. He needed that painting. More than anything else, he would most certainly meet his end if he were separated from it even for a moment more.

Felix' world suddenly shrank until there was nothing but him and this painting left, and he was struck by a wanton yearning, a sense that were he to go another moment without this artwork by his side, he would assuredly wither, dwindling 'til he was another fleck dust, cruelly kept away from the source of his melancholy, but without the merciful loss of consciousness offered by death. Lead by this unknown force of longing, Felix stumbled towards it, stretching his left hand before him, if only to spare him merely a second of this sudden misery. He was overwhelmed, and each shriek of the wooden floor beneath his boots felt like his own, the slow pace of his sedated steps stifling him. One after another, his feet gradually brought him along his desperate venture. But for each stride, his skin would prickle along with a shiver of paralyzing fear, urging him to gather his bearings and _leave_.  
It was only at the distant cry of a distressed animal that Felix was finally knocked out of his trance. Before him, his hand was only a whetstone's distance away from gracing the painting's surface. With a dire sense of urgency, Felix hastily constrained his arm by the other as he hastily stumbled away from the picture. Up-close, the painting maintained its eerie lack of any distinguishing detail, but instead it revelled in a sense of glorious splendour, bathing in the lustre only ever achieved by mythic heroes and great kings. But gleaming in this blinding light was not legends like Kyphon and Loog, but it was him and Dimitri, he remained absolutely certain that it was him and Dimitri - regardless of his inability to specify why, he was sure theirs were the eminence depicted. In the shadow of which Felix only felt a nauseous longing, so severe a part of him screamed to go back when he finally turned around to run. Narrowly avoiding the vine now cropped up between the wooden planks, grasping desperately to keep him. His grip around his arm remained as he forced his way through the door now shielding his bath, running away from it before the final splinters of the shattered wood had found their way to any surface below.  
He kept running, unsure of whether he would ever stop, one piece of him scowling the other for its egregious irrationality, which only responded with the harrowing notion that no matter whether he travelled to Enbarr, Brigid, or Almyra - none were distant enough to keep him safe from whatever loomed in this forest. He shut his eyes, refusing to acknowledge the tears threatening to blend with the rain, partially motivated by the fear of facing another vision coercing his halt.  
Felix kept running, a distance far beyond whatever his meagre remaining stamina would be able to carry him without the aid of adrenaline. Yet, he knew without opening his eyes he remained within the confines of the wall, the distance between each building now greater than last. When his mouth was full of iron, and his legs once more threatened to give up beneath him, he forced himself to a halt through terrorized shivers. When he cautiously released his arm to instead grab hold of his face, his legs finally lost their stature, leaving him to quiver in the devastating mud with only the desperate sound of his pounding heart for company. He was in pain, all of him. His legs ached with throbbing exhaustion, his muscles assuring him of a painful awakening were he to witness another dawn, his left arm felt incomplete, his hands urging for something to grasp and hold onto, whilst his right heaved him down as though burdened by another 50lbs. Alongside his heartbeats were the throbs of a malicious headache, which only worsened for each choked sob ripping through him, as he'd once brutally slashed the dummies of the training grounds. All accompanied by an insistent cold piercing him to his very core. Desperate to preserve any impossible remaining heat, he curled up, knowing this would only rub the dirt deeper into the seams of his clothing, though that was of little significance due to the fact he was soon going to die.  


Once his heartbeats no longer obliterated any other sound, he finally dared to gather his bearings and return to a standing stance. The acute sense of someone - _something_ \- observing him had returned once his thoughts found the ability to dwell on anything but the painting, but Felix was stubbornly intent to ignore it. Despite his soon death, he was intent on not leaving this earth like a whimpering coward, mewling pathetically about one insanity after the other. The storm was driving him mad, the forest was driving him mad, waiting for death was driving him mad. But he wouldn't have it - if death, or the goddess, enjoyed toying with their subjects before finally devouring them, he refused to play - and were his fate merely a result of the crushing absence of universal direction he wouldn't allow circumstance the upper hand. Scorning his hesitation, Felix stubbornly treaded onwards, tilting his head upwards despite the shocks of fear rushing through him in anxious anticipation of whatever lie before him.  
Soon, he discovered a looming shadow ahead of him, and his heart jumped in his throat as he discovered a castle on top of a hill only a short distance ahead. He unwittingly gulped, and as though yearning punishment for his own fear, he tenaciously continued forwards. Each stride only growing with ferocious persistence for each apprehensive tremble daring its way down his spine. The building haunting the ruins before him remained intact, and ignoring everything he'd experienced since he'd crossed the doomed wall, Felix told himself its seeming state of preservation left no need for question. It was made of stone, after all, not wood like the cottages. And castles must stand sturdier than mere walls, right? He pushed himself up the dwindling path of the hill leading to the castle, which lead him forward with unprecedented ease and bewildering speed. He remained intent on his new quest to ignore his pathetic fear, and stubbornly suppressed the numbing grasps of his limbs, the stifling grip around his throat, the part of him screaming to get away immediately. All along the thunder grew impossibly louder, the wind kept slashing his skin open with its biting freeze, and the raindrops now fell with such brutality, they no longer seemed to stay apart from one another. As his gaze finally found the end of the path, he rationalised that his fear must be due to the storm, that he was simply not accustomed to weather of such brutality, and thus it must have gotten to his head. Despite the fragile lie, he kept it - desperately trying to convince himself that his shivers were due to the cold, and the crawling trepidation was only his fatigued mind playing tricks on him: turning shadows to silhouettes, howling wind to whispers, and shallow coincidence to cruel intent.  
When he finally reached the entrance of the castle, he hesitated once more as he laid his hand upon the heavy wood. He scowled at the new wave of terror to hit him, flooding over him from all sides. He felt as though the castle was watching him, anticipating his every step, eyes all around him, willing him to step inside and give in to its false promise of safety and warmth. He shook his head stubbornly, as though this simple action would rid him of the devastating weight settled low in his stomach, and the inexplicable nausea which followed. He was overwhelmed by the crawling sensation of thousands of eyes observing his every move, the creeping sensation of his thoughts and fears and innermost desires being put on display for some otherworldly force to gawk. Only the momentary blindness of lightning seemed to propel him out of this spiral of despair. And though he knew the thunder which promptly ensued must be near, his ears tried to convince him of its distance.  
He didn’t know how much time passed before another strike of lightning struck close enough to momentarily blind him, and there was barely time to blink before the thundering roar followed immediately thereafter.  
There was no time for him to wait, no time to allow his sickness to worsen, no time to contemplate the differing nature of the recent strike and bellow. He'd lied - he wasn't ready to die.  
And with this in mind, Felix finally shoved the port with all his might, forcing the old wood to open before him. Conceding one last glance over his shoulder at the forest behind him, he stepped inside. Repressing the voice inside of him insisting he was committing a mistake.

**Author's Note:**

> ... Originally, this was meant to be a one-shot of approximately 5000 words, to be posted on October 31st... Needless to say, plans were changed, and currently it seems to grow into a three-parter of circus 10 - 15 thousand words. smh why am i like this.
> 
> If you would like to read more, I appreciate any kudos and comments, really, it's partially the reason I post this prematurely - we all love that sweet sweet validation.  
> Until next time, I wish you all the very best.
> 
> (streiff's name is actually a reference to an actual horse... yes i was googling 'famous historical horses' for this thing...)


End file.
